Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story

by Kirill Klevanski

  Ash didn’t risk exhaling too loudly, lest he risked breaking the orderly narrative of a time that wasn’t mentioned even in the oldest of books of the Thirteen Kingdoms.

  “Lovely nymphs, whose beauty would enslave anyone’s heart, offered me Cherry Nectar. The lesser goddesses, differing from the dryads only in their intelligence, delighted the ear with melodies so exquisite that if you listened to one, you would shed tears and forever wince when any other bard plucked at their lute’s strings. The meanings of their songs were so deep that you would have spent your whole life trying to decipher a single message hidden in them. Ah, those were the times...” The dragon paused. The sun was rising in the east, caressing the azure with golden rays, making the sky turn red, like the cheeks of a young man who had snatched a kiss from his love. The air gradually became warmer, embracing them like the arms of a loving mother. The wind had died down and was playing with their hair like a maiden with that of her lover, resting in her lap. If there was anything beautiful about this cave, it was the view of the dawn.

  “Then the God of my people came to me. The sage Liao-Fen. He was not even close to the Jasper Emperor, did not even hold a heavenly position and did not have connections in the magistrate, but wherever he stepped, everyone offered him gifts and bowed, touching the floor with their foreheads. His eyes shined like Myristal, and his smile was brighter than Irmaril in the midday. For each gift, he offered advice in exchange, often so effective and wise that it would change the course of history and the flow of time. I, the only of the colored dragons, could not, even in my wildest dreams, imagine that what he would say to me would change my life. We sat down as if we were equals and had a conversation. I have never had a talk as engrossing and memorable as that one. It has been almost ten thousand years, and I remember it as if it were only a moment ago. Even I, Hu-Chin, lowered my head in farewell to him.”

  Recalling the statues of the said stage that he had seen in the monastery, Ash couldn’t believe that that dried-up old man could’ve been so important that he’d make someone as proud as Hu-Chin bow his head.

  “At the end of our conversation, Liao-Fen mentioned that our people would soon perish. I was enraged and wanted to run away from the Feast to assist the Girtai, but the sage stopped me and poured me more wine. I could not believe my eyes. Whatever the priests have told you, mage, do not take their word for it. The Gods are mortal. As soon as their people die, so do they. But Liao-Fen was not afraid of death, no. I thought it was cowardly, although, in the end, I tainted myself with a despicable vice. After all, if the Girtai are no more, who would bring sacrifices to me?! Who would make me stronger and glorify my name?!

  Who will I be the guardian of?! Bare rocks and empty roads?!” In his rage, Hu-Chin failed to notice how the walls of the cave began to melt. “Liao-Feng ignored my questions. He leaned toward me,” the dragon, with its amber eyes flashing, leaned to the frozen Ash, “took a deep breath,” the dragon took a breath, too, making the pebbles scattered on the ground shake, “and bestowed upon me a wisdom he did not bestow even upon the Jade Emperor.”

  And then Hu-Chin told Ash the words that became the basics of Liao-Fen’s teachings, but were hidden even from the oldest monks of Mt. Mok-Pu. Hearing these simple words, Ash grew pale. Fear blurred his vision and grasped his mind, making him dizzy and nauseous. Everything suddenly seemed so fragile, so unimportant, and so ephemeral. He felt that if he were to touch something, it’d crumble to dust. That if he sneezed, he’d tear a hole in the fabric of space and time.

  While the mage shivered, unable to lift his forehead off the floor, the dragon straightened up. The wings unfolded and three powerful claws touched the ground. The whiskers floated through the air like grass in a stream, the eyes flashed, and blue sparks danced on the forked tongue. The pearl, clutched in the fourth paw, glowed with a steady, bluish glow.

  “That the last lesson,” Hu-Chin rumbled.

  It was in that moment that Ash realized that the dragon knew everything. Leaping to his feet, the mage slammed his staff against the ground. A cloak woven from the wind’s memories flew out of the wall and landed on his shoulder. His eyes met the amber ones and a battle ensued, thundering across the Heavens, earth, and water.

  When the chaos settled down, there were only ash and Ash.

  Chapter 53

  1st Day of the Month of Lust, 322. A.D., the Foothills

  A sh reached into the small travel bag strapped to his belt and found the shard of a pearl. The great dragon, Hu-Chin, the Blue Flame, the Master of the Eastern Reach, the Sage, the Patron of the Girtai, and one of the Colored Dragons. All those pompous names seemed to serve the purpose of warning the adventurer of the dragon’s power, and yet Ash had defeated him. The pearl pricked his finger, making him pull his hand out of the bag. A drop of blood slid down the frostbitten skin, covered with a thin crust of ice, and shone like a newly cut ruby.

  The truth was that Ash didn’t defeat the dragon. He knew that he’d never be a match for someone like Hu-Chin. But we shall let you in on a secret that even the bards don’t know, dear reader, and that is that the young man had tricked the dragon. How? Well, that’s a story for another day.

  “Come to think of it,” Lari muttered, snapping Ash out of his thoughts, “didn’t we agree not to go into cursed castles ever again?”

  “Technically,” Blackbeard said, “it’s not cursed, it’s enchanted.”

  “LIKE THAT MAKES IT ANY BETTER!”

  “Here we go again...” Tul sighed, patting Lari on the shoulder. “Ah, the things they teach you in modern schools...”

  “You’re three years younger than me!” Lari protested.

  The archer shrugged and smiled sympathetically. The rest of the group snickered, and Lari blushed with anger. Ash just shook his head.

  Snow crunched under his feet. The gray sky, like a lid of a coffin, kept pressing on them. The wind, sometimes howling among the sharp peaks, could barely be felt in the realm of Anna’Bre. Ash wished he could turn around and spend a few more days looking for another way out of the gorge, but he had no right to protest. Mary fearlessly led her party straight to the lair of the ice queen.

  The party wandered through the frozen garden of the enchanted castle. Alice would often make Mary worry by stopping near the sculptures and admiring them for a long time. No one except her seemed willing to stay longer in this frozen wasteland, busy thinking of what legends and songs their new adventure would inspire, and fame it’d attract. However, no one seemed to be thinking about the fact that they’d need to survive the said adventure first.

  Few were those who had encountered a powerful entity like Anna’Bre, and even fewer were those who had lived to tell their tale. Ash was one of the few, but, with Gods and spirits as his witness, he’d prefer it if he didn’t have to meet with someone like Hu-Chin ever gain.

  “Here we are, at last!” Mary exclaimed when they came to a huge gate forged from black metal.

  The heavy doors didn't seem to have opened for the last few hundred years. The ice that covered them had grown as thick as a young oak. And the higher you looked, the more dangerous the tips of the huge icicles glittered. The wind picked up and Ash felt as if he wasn’t looking at icicles but the fangs of a monster.

  “But how do we get in...?” Mary wondered aloud.

  Before anyone could voice their ideas, the flower in Mary’s hand began to rise into the air. It whirled around like a dancer, and then floated slowly toward the gates, where it froze for a moment. Ash noticed that large drops of sweat were rolling down Lari’s forehead, and that the knuckles that gripped the hilt of the blade were as white as his lips, which were drawn into a thin line. The rest of the Stumps were also on edge. Everyone was both horrified and intrigued by what the sleeping Graven’Dor had to offer.

  “I’d rather you let it sleep,” Ash thought. “And Anna’Bre with it.”

  As soon as these thoughts crossed his mind, the flower came to life again. The petals, each the size of a child’s
fist, trembled, and gradually approached the ice covering the gates. The flower seemed to melt into crystalline crust, leaving a narrow tunnel behind it, that instantly filled with a thawed water. When the flower touched the gates and seemed to sink into them, the travelers were almost deafened by the thundering creaking and rumbling.

  The age-old ice sheet cracked and shattered, the hinges screeched, having long forgotten how the touch of oil felt. What had once been a cobblestone floor now looked more like the floor of a cave. A torrent of violent wind burst from the dark, forcing the travelers to bend over in an attempt to protect their faces from the sharp ice that tore at their clothes and woolen cloaks.

  “Oh, this is just great!” Blackbeard exclaimed, once again lamenting his poor beard. “Just one time, can I—”

  “Quiet!” they hushed in unison, but it was too late.

  The huge icicles, as if angered by his voice, cracked at the base. Like a rain of arrows, they fell upon the travelers. Ash struck the ground with his staff, and for a brief moment the party was covered by a sphere of fire. Less than a heartbeat later, the Stumps were drenched in a cool shower.

  Blackbeard’s teeth clattered like castanets.

  “W-What...?”

  Before he could finish his question, Ash struck with his staff one more time, and the Stumps cried out from the heat that closed around them. All the moisture evaporated from their clothes, and with it, the remnants of their good mood. Ash felt uncomfortable under the angry stares of his companions, but no one dared do anything.

  “Come on,” Mary ordered and led them inside.

  The mage conjured a sphere of magic fire, and enveloped Blackbeard in it. Walking in front of them all, he lit the way for them. The dim light couldn’t completely drive away the darkness. Soon, the hall turned into a theater of shadows.

  The ancient columns, stretching into the seemingly endless corridor resembling a patch of a moonless sky, sparkled with icy ornaments that snaked across the once-beautiful marble. Shadows, fleeing from the magic fire, hid in crevices, lurked in corners, and danced on the walls, frightening the travelers. What the universe had ordained as a harmless fragment of masonry, the theater transformed into something terrible.

  The silence, lovingly nurtured over a millennia of slumber, trembled faintly from the grinding of teeth and the clang of weapons on the metal brackets of the scabbard. Alice was the most frightened of them all. She clung to Lari, who, although he was also scared, put on a brave face so that she wouldn’t be afraid.

  Even Ash’s knees trembled with fear.

  Once, while still sitting on the balcony in Mystrith’s palace, he picked up a collection of old legends. Some of the stories recorded and carefully passed down were covered with such a thick layer of dust that even a hundred dwarves wouldn’t be able to dig out its gems. Flipping through the pages of a children’s book, which wasn’t befitting for someone like him, Ash came across a surprisingly beautiful story. Like many others, it, too, boiled down to “love,” “compassion,” “honor,” “loyalty,” and other terms that he didn’t understand at the time. However, this didn’t make the “Legend of the King” any less interesting and beautiful.

  It was in this story that the glorious adventures of the Last King, the first king-mage, were preserved. Born on the day that his village was burned, born out of a dead womb, he should have been the most terrible evil, but fate had something different in store for him.

  The fickle mistress, who never let anyone fall in her favor, led the future legend along a thousand roads, put him through even more troubles and storms, graced him with curses and forgiveness, friends and enemies, love and death, until she finally put him on the throne. Never before, and never after, was there a time when the people lived better than under the rule of this lost king. Whether you were a noble with a lineage going back to the root of the tree of ages, or a simple shepherd who had recently carved his first pipe, the King was fair to all. But as any storyteller whose stories were their bread and butter say: “in any story, only the beginning and the end matter.”

  Ash didn’t argue with this wisdom — the beginning was attention-grabbing, that was for sure, and the end was no worse. Anyone who’d dare parody history by claiming that the King was betrayed by his beloved; or taint the legend by a lie, boldly claiming that the King was killed by his best friend, would’ve made fools of themselves by insinuating that there were enemies hiding in the King’s lands. The minstrels still weaved stories about this event, but no one really knew who betrayed the King.

  Fate, once again showing her wild and unbridled temper, abandoned her little project. And the King’s kingdom broke up into hundreds of small states.

  Or was torn apart by war.

  Or was given away.

  Or something else.

  Every bard had their own story to tell.

  But all the songs came down to one thing — the world wouldn’t survive the awakening of the Last King. After all, he was to be the last of the rules.

  Something rang out, sending an echo through the frozen walls. The darkness and the dancing shadows reflected the ringing, transforming it and deepening it, giving it a new life.

  “Quiet!” Mary hissed, throwing her clenched fist into the air.

  The Stumps shuddered and stopped. Blackbeard raised his shield in a frantic attempt to defend himself with a piece of metal from a nightmare that might be approaching them.

  “The crown has fallen,” Lari tried to joke, but it didn’t work out very well.

  “This isn’t the capital of the Old Kingdom,” Blackbeard said, who was too well versed in historical matters. “But a mage order.”

  “The Order of Magi is linked to the prophecy of the Last King,” Ash added in a whisper, clutching his staff.

  “Maybe they aren’t,” Blackbeard said, spreading his arms. “There are many historians, and each has their own opinion. Some even claim that it concerns the Traitor.”

  “They were banished to the Land of Winds,” Mary whispered. It seemed easier to talk, rather than to listen to the oppressive silence and twitch at every rustle or too loud of a sigh. “I don’t think it exists though. People have been looking for it for ages now. Legends say that the place is full of treasure, but...”

  “Agree to disagree, legends aren’t enough of a proof,” Blackbeard said with a nod.

  “The Last King,” Alice said, a little dreamily. “It reminds me of the story of King Agolia.”

  This, too, was a story that Ash remembered. In it, the handsome king was betrayed by his best friend, and beloved wife. And they betrayed him in the same bed.

  “Only the last one wasn’t betrayed.” Tul chuckled.

  “That depends on how you look at it,” Blackbeard argued. “Do the names Guniver and Lanal mean anything to you?”

  “Oh, you southerners...” Tul shook his head. “All you do is keep an inventory. And all of your heroes have legendary swords, immortal horses, and faithful and obedient wives.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry! Are we too civilized for you, barbarian?!” Blackbeard laughed.

  “Takes one to know one!” Tul argued. “So she cheated on her husband. So what? They didn’t poison the king, or reveal state secrets to the enemy. From where I come from, a woman lies with the one who loves her. It’s as simple as that.”

  Ash, listening to the usual banter, kept looking around. Ice, like water, wasn’t the best friend to some who bore the name of fire in their chest. The magic that warmed the mage’s heart would now and then succumb to the breath of the snowy mountains and Ash began to feel his fingers freeze. The first puff of steam came out of his mouth.

  “What about the vows?” Alice snapped, glaring at Tul.

  “What about them? You people have marriage vows. We, the northerners, have those who are stronger and more worthy of one’s attention. Agolia, was good a ruler, but he wasn’t a swordsman.”

  “Ah, but there’s a flaw in your logical, my friend,” Blackbeard said with an almost mocking smile. “Y
ou said yourself that your girls will lie with anyone, and now you claim that the strong have the right to do as they please.”

  “First of all, not with everyone,” Tul argued. “Don’t twist my words. And secondly, everything’s very logical. If you’re strong, brave, and not known to be faint-hearted or greedy, then the girl will have her eye on you.”

  “Sure, sure... Today, she has one favorite, tomorrow another. For every strong man, there’s always someone stronger.”

  “You’re oversimplifying things,” Tul said, as if he had just downed a mug of watered beer. “I’m telling you how it is, and you’re clinging to words. What I’m trying to say is that a woman is neither a cow nor a sheep—” He glanced over at Alice and Mary. In the presence of two ladies, no one dared to make a joke on the account of their gender. “Khm, that is... They aren’t property.”

  “I’m not denying that,” Blackbeard muttered after a moment’s thought. “But treason is treason, and a synonym for it is betrayal. And as one well-known character said: ‘The darkest corners of the abyss awaits traitors and renegades.’ ”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Tul sighed. “And maybe you’re not.”

  Mary, who had at first supported the argument, now looked at the two with a rather cold gaze. Talking about history, even under the veil of legends, she could tolerate. But talking about women, as polite as her two friends were trying to be, she could not.

  “When the Mountain of Skulls falls, the Potter shall rise. Those who can see and hear shall see the first signs of the arrival of the Damned. Flames will rise from the extinguished coals. The bugle will sing its farewell song. Ancient walls will collapse. The chains will break. The Last King will wake up. And then the one who was born on both sides of the world will appear. A dragon will cover the Seventh Heaven with its wings and eternal night will come.”

  Ash finished reciting the old tavern ballad, and the corridor fell silent again. Everyone, even Tul, knew how the story ended. When the Old Kingdom collapsed, giving birth to thirteen new ones, the era of endless wars began.